


Scotch and Scrambled Eggs

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: White Collar
Genre: Caretaking, Episode: s01e10 Vital Signs, Gen, General Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Missing Scene, Neal is drugged during vital signs, Season 1, el is the best, how do I even tag this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:06:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4496499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I cannot believe you,” he said once they’d entered the safety of the elevator.<br/>“You can’t?” Neal slurred, holding onto the arms of the wheelchair as if trying to ground himself. “Really, Peter?”</p><p>Missing scene from Vital Signs between Peter dragging Neal out of the clinic and Neal ending up on Peter's couch. Peter wants to get out, Neal wants to not be awake. Shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scotch and Scrambled Eggs

When he’d sat down for breakfast that morning, Agent Peter Burke did not expect that in six hours he’d be sneaking into a private clinic, stealing security footage and bodily dragging his near-unconscious consultant through a series of conference rooms. He hadn’t expected to toss Caffrey into a spare wheelchair and sprint to the elevator, jabbing the down button repeatedly before security could find them. He’d come to expect this kind of thing from Neal, but the fact that the man he was supposed to keep on a short leash was now staring up at him with pupils blown black and a massive puncture mark on the inside of his right elbow made Peter feel much more responsible for the incident.

“I cannot believe you,” he said once they’d entered the safety of the elevator.

“You can’t?” Neal slurred, holding onto the arms of the wheelchair as if trying to ground himself. “Really, Peter?”

“Stop talking. Just be quiet.” Peter couldn’t decide whether to be furious or relieved. He’d gotten Neal this far. If they could sneak through a different exit and avoid running into Melissa, he’d be home free. No paperwork, no lecture on how Caffrey had been his responsibility and how he’d failed the department. _Just get Neal away from here and you’ll both be fine._

Neal, as out of it as he was, seemed more than capable of playing the part. He sat listless, mumbling to himself as Peter tried not to sprint through the halls of the clinic and ducked out the back entrance.

“Okay, okay. We’re almost there. You still with me?”

“Yeah.” Neal sounded like he was having difficulty controlling his tongue. “‘M still awake.”

“Just stay like that for two more minutes.”

Neal groaned as the wheelchair jolted over the bumps in the parking lot, his eyelids fluttering as he forced them open. “Why am I so tired?”

“Because you’ve been drugged.”

“S’that also why my arm hurts?” He touched the mark with one finger-- bringing a drop of blood to the surface-- and winced.

“Yep. They injected you with a sedative. At least that’s what it looks like.”

“Oh, yeah.” Neal blinked, his eyes bloodshot. “They said they wanted to calm me down? Thought I was a mental patient.”

Peter clenched his jaw. “Or they wanted to loosen you up so you’d talk.”

To his surprise, Neal laughed. “Shoulda just given me a couple drinks.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. C’mon, let’s get you into the car.” He opened the door to the backseat and pulled Neal’s good arm over his shoulders before hauling Neal to his feet.

“You’re strong.”

“You said that already. Take two steps forward.”

Neal made it one and a half before pitching forward into the car, his legs dangling from the open door. Peter sighed.

“Close enough. Pull your legs in.”

Neal obeyed, curling up into a ball on the seat and flinching when Peter slammed the door.

“June’s place is a little while away. You going to be okay back there?” Peter asked.

“No. You can’t take me to June’s. I can’t… explain this to her.” Neal groaned. “I can’t think. She’ll know something’s wrong.”

“My house is closer.”

Neal closed his eyes. “Okay.”

If possible, the roads seemed even worse than they had that morning. Between the stop-and-start traffic and the massive potholes, Neal was becoming more vocal with every passing minute.

“Peter.” He swallowed audibly, his voice thick. “Peter, if you don’t slow down I’m going to ruin the upholstery back here.”

“What?” Peter braked suddenly to avoid rear ending the sedan in front of him and Neal whimpered.

“Peter, please.”

“Are you sincerely telling me that you’re carsick? Like a six year old?”

“I’ve been _drugged_. And your driving isn’t helping.”

“I’m trying to get us home as quickly as I can. Who knows what’s going on at the clinic right now.”

“All I know is that all I’ve had to eat today is scrambled eggs and three scotch and sodas so if you could _please_ …” Peter hit another bump and Neal moaned, curling himself into a tighter ball on the seat.

“Breathe through your nose. Focus on a stationary point on the horizon. Do not vomit in my car.”

“I can’t even sit up. It hurts.”

“We’re almost there. And who let you drink?”

“Nobody _let_ me drink.”

“Are you normally drinking when we’re working?”

Neal sighed. “No. I don’t like hospitals. Had to psych myself up a little.”

“And look how well that turned out.”

Neal opened his mouth as if to respond, then closed it tightly as Peter pulled into a spot outside his house.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going to get you out of the car and you’re going to help me as much as possible. You need to stay awake until I can get you into the house.”

“I’ll try.” Peter glanced over his shoulder at Neal, who was still balled up on the seat and fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Try harder. C’mon.”

For a relatively slim man, Neal was a lot heavier than Peter expected. He at first tried to drag the con out by his legs, but settled for pulling Neal into a sitting position and then wrapping an arm around his waist, accidentally cracking Neal’s forehead against the car frame.

“Peteeeerrrrr…” Neal dragged out his name like a sob.

“Sorry, I’m sorry! You need to work with me here.”

“I’m tryyiiiiinnng.”

“Okay, okay. One, two…”

Peter managed to pull Neal into a standing position for a moment before he crumpled. Cursing, Peter dragged Neal’s prone body up the stairs and fumbled with his keys.

“What happened?” El was on her feet in an instant when the two men stumbled through the door. Almost immediately, Neal’s knees buckled and he crumbled to the floor, nearly dragging Peter with him.

“They gave him some kind of sedative at the clinic.” Peter tried to catch his breath, panting from the exertion of carrying Neal. “Help me get him to the couch.”

“God, what did they stick him with? Look at this.” El knelt next to Neal, who was whimpering in a heap on the floor, and lifted his right arm. “He’s bleeding.”

“We’ll handle that later. Put his arm around your shoulders. I’ve got the other one.” Neal might as well have been made of wet cardboard, curling in on himself as soon as his body hit the sofa. El sat next to him-- still possessing enough energy to worry-- and pressed a hand to the back of his head.

“Neal? Are you okay?”

“Nooooo…” Neal was turning grey. “I’m dying.”

El looked up at Peter in horror, but before she could speak, he managed to catch his breath.

“He’s not dying. He’s carsick.”

“Who taught you to drive?” Neal pressed his face into the cushion. “I’d like to send them a strongly worded letter.”

“Do not throw up on my couch.”

“I’m not allowed to throw up in your car _or_  on your couch?”

“No. God, Neal, I knew you had a flair for the dramatic but this is ridiculous.”

“I’ll go check and see if we’ve got anything that’ll help.” El tried to get up, but Neal took hold of her wrist.

“No… please stay.”

“I can’t believe this.” Peter rolled his eyes and El shot him a look.

“He’s been dosed with God-knows-what and you want to get petty about this?”

“You don’t know what I had to do to get him out of that clinic.”

“No, I’m sure I would very much like to know, Mr. Magic Hands. There’s a first aid kit in the kitchen cupboard. Would you please get it for me.” This was not a request. Peter sighed and acquiesced, returning to find El unbuttoning Neal’s shirt.

“Okay, this is where I draw the line.”

“He’s wearing a t-shirt underneath. And he can’t do it himself. Unless you’d prefer to do it?” She pulled the button down over Neal’s shoulders and tugged his arms out of the sleeves, apologizing when she brushed the puncture wound.

“You should have been a nurse.”

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment.” She sounded more concerned than angry, so Peter figured it was safe to proceed with the first aid kit.

“Did he hit himself on anything? He seemed pretty floppy when you brought him in.”

Peter winced. “He might have some rug burns. I had to drag him most of the way. And I may have accidentally hit his head against the doorframe of my car.”

“That explains this.” El touched the red mark on Neal’s forehead and he groaned.

“My head hurts.”

“I know, honey. Did they tell you what they were giving you?”

“S’mthing to calm me down,” Neal mumbled, his eyelids fluttering.

“Don’t fall asleep yet. I don’t know if we can give him a painkiller or something.” This was directed at Peter, who shook his head.

“Probably not. Just let him sleep it off.”

“I at least want to get him some ice. Maybe put a band-aid on his arm.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

El was cleaning the mark on Neal’s forearm when Peter returned with the old ice pack El’s mother had snuck into their luggage when they moved in together. “Just in case he gives you a headache,” she’d said to El, who didn’t find it very amusing. At least now it would get some use.

“They really got him. Were they even trying to get into a vein? Or did they just stab him in the elbow?”

“Good question,” Peter said. “I have ice.”

“Thank you. Neal, honey? Open your eyes.”

“Someone put sandbags on them.”

“I know you’re sleepy, but you need to stay awake for a few more minutes. Peter brought ice. Where does it hurt the most?”

“My brain is falling out of my ears.”

“Okay. Not an entirely straightforward answer but we can work with that. Does that feel better?” El placed the ice pack gently on Neal’s forehead and he sighed.

“Thank you.”

“There we go. That’s better.”

Neal made a little sound of relief. “Peter?”

“Yeah, Neal?”

“I meant what I said. Before. About trusting you.”

“I know.”

El looked up with stars in her eyes. “That’s so cute.”

“He’s not going to remember any of this,” Peter said. “He’s just saying whatever he thinks I want to hear so I won’t be angry later.”

“I’m still here,” Neal said, but a few moments later his breathing became steady and even.

“He’s so sweet when he’s asleep. Not at all like a felon,” El said and Peter snorted.

“Just wait until he wakes up.”

“At least he trusted you enough to ask for help when he needed it.”

“He didn’t want to go back to jail. It was about self-preservation, not trust.”

“I think he’s growing on you.” El smiled.

“Yeah. Like athlete’s foot.”

“Don’t be bitter. Let’s deal with this when he sobers up a little.”

“And in the meantime?”

“There are some chores to be done, Mr. Magic Hands.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> If it seems like I'm being petty about the injection it's because I am. The nurse didn't even check for a vein? She just stabbed a massive needle straight down? Girl, who signed off on your medical degree?


End file.
